For fe_contest #12, "Vanity" (the Yuki Kajiura song), written in a mad last-minute frenzy. Mildly edited 4/18.
we somehow do learn to live
—Idiom
6. in vain,
a. without effect or avail; to no purpose: to apologize in vain.
There was a woman singing.
She was by his bedside, the light weight of her hand upon his chest, above the blankets. Blue hair about her face, short. A serene set to her expression. She noticed him waking and smiled.
He was rather fond of her.
Something scraped past his cheek as he was moved in a lumbering gait. His other cheek was pressed against someone's shoulder. He opened the eye that was not pressed shut to watch leaves proceed past him. They were oblong, jagged about the edges, and – brushing him as he was carried past – rough and thick. He brought one hand up to scratch his tickled cheek.
From the body against his face rumbled a deep voice: "Ike? Are you awake?"
He gave an mmm, turning his head to prop his chin upon the shoulder. Blinking sleep away, he suddenly observed the endless forest around him and jerked to attention.
Through a constricted throat and a racing pulse, he said, "Where am I?"
"We're headed to Zarzi."
Still no surer of his surroundings, but comforted by this voice, he asked, "Zarzi?"
"The capital. We're going to see King Caineghis. Remember him?"
He thought of the word Zarzi and the word Caineghis and tried to match images with them. He stared at the passing leaves and all he could summon up were images of more leaves, trees. A tunic made of leaves. He looked forward, past the stubbled face of the man carrying him. Caineghis might belong to a man with stubble. "No."
"We just saw him last summer. You spent a week in his palace. You liked it."
He tried a little harder. Summer – sun on his neck and something rough, heavy, and long in his hands. Yellowed grass and hot stone. Palace – a building that he knew to be important. In his mind he dressed it with tassels and festive banners, its interior opaque to him.
"Do you remember?"
"Unh-uh," he said in disagreement. The man lapsed into silence. He thought about the arms supporting his bottom, the muscled back against his chest, the shoulder that served against his pillow. The sandy-colored hair that covered the back of the man's head. He looked again at the side of his face. Squirming and craning, he tried to get a better view of this person – whoever it was. He had the impression that he was familiar with him, but he couldn't seem to summon up anything else about him.
The man noticed as he tried to accommodate his shifting weight and looked back at him. He had small eyes, framed from above by thick eyebrows and below by tired wrinkles. A prominent nose, a scar across his forehead. "What is it?"
He inclined his head and tried to give rise to the question tumbling in his mind. Finally, he said, "Who are you?"
The man frowned. "Ike?" The boy still waited for a response. Finally, the unknown but familiar person answered, "I'm your father."
There were four of them: the boy, a man, a girl, and a woman. For as long as the boy could remember – since he woke up against the man's back – they walked along a well-trodden path through a seemingly endless wood. Once it was established that he could no longer remember, they told him. The girl was his sister. He always knew that the woman wasn't his mother. He learned their names. Greil. Mist. Titania.
Ike.
They all seemed to fit very well, once he'd heard them. It was more surprising to learn that they were leaving their old home behind forever, and when he asked "Why?" he could garner no reply from them. He was fairly confident that leaving someplace forever was an extreme thing to do. The boy had the suspicion that there was something important that lurked between them, but no one told him and he hadn't enough memory of who they were and what had happened to guess.
When he tried too hard to remember, his mind was blank and he thought of whatever he was looking at. Soon his mind was filled with leaves. A childhood of leaves. Like he had been born in the forest and raised there by his lonesome, raised by an adventurous tree-person, a tunic of his guardian's autumnal shedding covering his body.
When he let his mind drift, letting whatever visions from the past waft to him, he remembered a high-sloped ceiling, a shelf with vases and jars, a hand upon his chest – a woman singing, her voice echoing up to him from someplace untouchable.
By early afternoon, the sun penetrated the forest cover and surrounded him with damp heat. The girl woke from between the woman and the mane of her horse and started to complain, "It's hot. When are we going home? I want to see mother," and his legs stuck to the man's cloth and the warmth of his back made everything worse and the boy complained too, of the heat and endlessness but not much else. They refilled their canteens at a wayward brook and the girl put it into his mind that they could go take a dip in the water, and he agreed vigorously with this idea.
"We don't have time to stop," the man barked abruptly, and they all went quiet. When they resumed their travels, the boy walked on his own at the back of their small procession, behind the fly-swatting tail of the woman's horse. They traveled quickly and the boy all but ran at times to keep up. From time to time they glanced back for him.
It wasn't like he knew why they were taking this trip, or who they even were. He followed them because he felt like he should be following them and he didn't want to be lost alone in the forest. He guessed that they cared about him – maybe. When the man shouted it hardly seemed so.
He didn't even know who he was. Someone named Ike, running through a wood. They knew he didn't know but still the woman would call his name when he lagged behind with a lilt of her voice that said that she was confident that he knew her.
He couldn't even remember her name by now. It was too many syllables.
By sundown the girl asked how long it would take to get to Zarzi. The man replied that it would take another day; they might as well rest for the night, before it became too dark to see.
They found a small patch of ground free of all but the tenderest underbrush, and here the man and woman laid out the blankets over the grass and told the children to share one and go to sleep. They walked a little ways into the forest, but not too far – they could still hear their indiscernible conversation through the rising hum of insects.
The girl curled too close to him for a night that hot. When he nudged her she clung to him even harder and insisted, "Ike, it's dark. I'm scared."
"There's nothing to be scared of," he grumbled, feeling like he had this conversation before at some point. She stubbornly remained stuck to his side, her little sticky hands making wet wrinkles on his shirt.
"I'm scared," she repeated, nudging his arm with her head. Instinctively, he complied and brought his arm around her, bringing her sweaty heat even closer. "I want mother," she muttered ungratefully into his side.
"Where's mother?" he dared to wonder out loud.
"She's at home," she said. The boy thought they weren't going home. A bug started to crawl over his hand and he brushed it off against the blanket. "I want mother."
She went quiet for a time, and he thought she fell asleep. Then she started singing, quietly, her childish voice raspy but startlingly on-key. He remembered that song. "What's that song?"
Breaking off her phrase, she said, "Mother's song," before continuing where she had left off to see the short tune through. The sound of it made him tired, but at once emptier than he'd felt for all of his first remembered day. When the girl yawned, nuzzled a little closer, and stayed silent, the tune continued through his head from the throat of the woman in his mind.
He sat up. The girl curled her head a little closer to her chest as his arm slipped away. Suddenly, his companion asleep, the dark made itself real to him. He couldn't see much further than the trees that surrounded them, their gaps portals for ghosts and monsters. He could still hear human voices – that of the man and the woman – muttering over insect calls. Without knowing why, he picked himself up from the blanket and carefully stepped toward the voices, familiar voices.
Unseen reeds and little bugs tickled him through his sandals. He passed his hands over rough tree trunks as he found his way through the nighttime forest. Some patches were lighter than others, where the trees above parted and moonlight found its way faintly to illuminate soft gray edges of underbrush.
"– after her children –" spoke the man. "– more – expected – – returning to –?" His grim laugh drifted to the boy's ears. He tried to approach more quietly, his sandals scuffing through the grasses.
The woman, of a softer voice: "– more than that – – my own children – years – for you."
The boy stepped into a darker portion of the forest, the ground unknown. He was closer, so the man's voice came louder when he said, "I'm doing all I can – out of danger. Thank you – watching over –. Elena would be grateful." The man's voice was sad.
"Captain Greil," the woman, insistently, "she wouldn't blame you."
They were silent. Suddenly, the boy found a hole with his next step, and he grabbed a nearby branch to keep from falling. The leaves hissed and clattered; there came the sound of metal against metal, and the man's voice boomed, "Who's there?" The boy's voice caught in his throat and he stayed in that position, balanced between one foot and the branch. "Come out!"
A few tense moments, and the man's footsteps began to approach. The boy saw the glint of light off of the man's heavy sword and in panic cried, "No! Wait!"
"Ike?" The man brushed aside the branches between them, his silhouette appearing before him. "What are you doing here?" Suddenly the boy felt as if he was staring at a stranger, and he wondered indeed what he was doing there.
"It's dark."
The man offered his hand, and the boy took it, steadying himself and finding ground beneath his feet again. "Were you scared?"
"No," he muttered. He was quite certain he was too old to be scared of the dark.
"Titania." The woman approached at his call. "Take him back to camp."
"Won't you be coming?"
"Give me a few more minutes."
She found the boy's hand and clasped it, saying, "Let's go back."
Her hand was firm and calloused, not at all like the singing woman in his mind. She led him back through the trees and the brush and the uneven dirt. "These woods are safe," she said. "The animals don't like living this close to the path."
He let her lead him a little ways. He thought about this day, from the start to the end and how strange it all was, so strange that it hardly seemed real. He thought about the woman singing from somewhere deep and bottomless, singing Mother's Song, the only thing he knew – nothing else of anything, not even of that woman. "Titania?" he said, testing the other woman's name.
"Ike?"
"What happened?"
The muscles in her hand shifted a little as she replied, "What do you mean, what happened?"
He thought about the woman who sang Mother's Song, the home they left for reasons unexplained, the sadness in the man's voice. He tried to think of words for it, shrugged and simply repeated, "What happened?"
A beat passed as she led their way through the forest before she said, "I'll let the Captain tell you." They reached their little camp – a few blankets, their rolls of supplies, and a sleeping horse tied to a tree. "Why don't you get some sleep? We'll start traveling early tomorrow."
The boy sat down on his blanket, next to where the girl still laid fast asleep. He looked up at the woman, the outlines of her red hair silver in the faint light. He tried to imagine sleeping to her voice, humming Mother's Song, and couldn't. Who was she? Could she have possibly had a place in his life?
And that singing woman... what about her? "Where's mother?" he asked.
"Ike," she said strangely. She paused again and placed her hands on his shoulders. "It'll be … awhile before we can see her again."
"When will we go home and see her?"
"I don't know. Get some rest for tonight, all right? We can talk about this another time."
The boy lay down on the blanket, not moving away from the girl's hot breaths against the back of his hand. He stared up at the trees and sky and thought about her song, her lullaby, until he fell asleep.
He couldn't remember his dream when he woke. He felt that he rarely did.
In the early sunlight, the man ordered them all up in a low voice. They packed quickly and started again down the forest path.
The boy remembered the previous day, at least, and this made him more confident. He matched the man's pace, three little steps to two big ones. Not long after they resumed, he asked from the man's side, "Are we really leaving forever?"
"We're not going back," he answered bluntly.
"What about mother?"
The man stopped mid-stride. Behind them, the horse let a snort of protest. He turned to the boy and touched his hair, his face, his shoulders, as the boy stared questioningly, a What happened? on his lips. The man picked the boy up, letting him sit atop his strong arms, and said quietly into his ear, "Your sister shouldn't know yet. But I think you should know the truth." He started walking again, and as he did, he said, "Your mother is gone."
From behind them, the girl started up a wail of, "Tell me! I want to know! I want mother!"
The boy replied in an also-quiet voice, "Gone?" The man held him a little closer. "What do you mean?"
"Gone," he said simply.
With the backdrop of the girl's pleading, the boy thought of the woman frozen in time, humming a song, patting him with adoration. He looked around at the three others: the man, the girl, and the woman. His bedside singer absent. Their home left behind.
"Oh," the boy said. And he was still not sure – but he was quiet for the rest of the journey while the girl fussed. He knew at least that in some way, his hopes to regain his past had all been in vain.
Her gentle face, framed with hair the color of his own. Her kindly eyes, gazing softly at his form. Her singing voice, floating up from the dark well of his memory.
It was in the evening, when they had entered the city of Zarzi and were making their way through the thinning crowd of laguz, that he thought to himself that she was gone, the only part of himself that he knew, the only loving tenderness he could remember, and right there in the staring crowd with his hand in the man's so he wouldn't get lost, he burst into tears.
In a side room of the Gallian palace, the woman supported the girl on one leg and the boy on the other. They were both pink-eyed; the girl hadn't found out, but her brother's tears were enough to release her confusion and frustration and they both bawled until the man told them that they could go cry in private until they were done. As soon as he said that, the girl cried harder but the boy all but stopped, and his tears went somewhere unreachable.
The woman held onto them both, a little uncomfortably. The boy thought to himself that she wasn't very good at it, and more or less only knew not to let them drop. "I know," she said aloud. "Would you like me to tell you a story?" The girl sniffed, a little water still leaking from her nose, and leaned against her tiredly. The boy was tired too. He stared at the room, ornate and red-and-blue colored, filled with fancy chairs and tables. It was all not-normal, he felt, but at once he didn't care. "Do you want to go to sleep?" she proposed instead.
"No," the boy muttered, but his body betrayed him and he leaned into her soft, strong arm. She chuckled lightly and held them there in that chair.
Some time later he was aware that she was talking to the man. A few strands of her hair tickled his nose, smelling like sweat and hard soap. "They won't know for weeks," she said, trying hard to stay quiet, but from his perch his ear was next to her chest. "The children are tired. We can afford to rest a night, especially in the king's protection."
"I want to put as much distance between us as possible," said the man, also quietly. The echo of his voice and the distant tinkle of a fountain let the boy know that she had carried them somewhere else.
"Captain..."
"I'm not your Captain anymore."
"Sorry... Sir Greil... I know it is not my place to say this. But... you mustn't lose sight of yourself. They still need you."
They were both quiet. It was the silence that made the boy stir, and the woman rocked his body lightly in response. "You're right," the man said finally. "We'll accept the king's offer."
The woman started walking, a soothing rhythm, and the boy fell asleep again.
He woke up to the sound of wood clashing in irregular intervals. The light illuminated a triangle on the underbelly of a sheet raised by bedposts above him. Beside him, the girl, his sister, was curled beneath a thin sheet, her thumb on her lip.
The sound came from beyond the open window. Without any hesitation, he climbed out of the bed and bounded over to peer out. In the courtyard, he saw the woman and the man with wooden axes, exchanging a series of skillful parries. He couldn't tell what exactly was happening from his perch, but there was a shift in their rhythm and the sound of wood against leather. The man stumbled back with an exclamation, and they both laughed.
The boy watched from the window as they sparred for several more rounds. Eventually the woman laughed and set down her axe. Spotting him, she called, "Why don't you come down, Ike?"
The boy stepped back from the window and considered it for a moment. He glanced around the room, his sister – Mist – still sleeping quietly on the bed.
He found his way out the door, down the stairwell, and into the courtyard. The woman met him at the entrance and handed him a wooden sword. He took it in his hands, holding it in a perfect stance. It was rough and familiar in his hands. She smiled at him, strapping light leather armor onto his chest, and said, "I hope you enjoy yourself. It's been a few days since you've had any fun."
He thought it had been a lifetime, but he didn't correct her. He said in a very serious voice, "I'll try." She – Titania – ruffled his hair, and, laughing, pushed him toward toward the training ground.
The man was at the far side of the training ground, his axe replaced by a wooden sword identical to his. "What's this, Ike?" he called jovially, that weighted tone from the last few days momentarily absent. "Are you going to challenge your stubborn father?" He nodded, pointing his sword before him. "Come on, then!" The boy charged; the man made a simple parry and pushed back just hard enough to send him staggering back onto his rear. With a light oof, he clamored back onto his feet and dove for him again. Their swords clicked, echoing in the courtyard. The boy's muscles seemed to move of their own mind, and his eyes tracked the swords with knowledge beyond memory. There – an opening! He brought his sword up to the man's unguarded left –
But the man, with deliberate ease, swung his sword down and around, sending the hilt spinning out of the boy's hand. The boy frowned at his loss, running over to pick his sword up from the ground. The man laughed behind him. When the boy turned around, sword raised, he found that the man was leaning on his own sword, watching him pensively.
"We'll do all right, Ike," he said.
The boy looked at the man, this man with whom sparring felt so natural. He glanced to the side, where Titania watched from the courtyard entrance. The sun warmed him from the shoulders down, burning his eyes a little where it reflected in sparkles from the fountain's water.
The singing woman smiled lightly at him, and he let her recede back into the mists of sometime long ago. "Yeah," he said, a little halfheartedly, watching her go.
"Another?" He looked back at his father and brought his sword back up before him. Father laughed, a deep rich laugh from his strong lungs, and he raised his sword up in a stance so much alike.
Ike knew, at least, that he couldn't discover them if he kept gazing back.